Left To Give
by Tobi's Puppy
Summary: A young boy battles his degrading consciousness and his own fear of the changing reality around. Dominic Withers puts his only trust into the world he lives in, only to find his "rural" lifestyle is all but a lie.
1. Prologue

Left to Give

I stood upon the hill, leaning against the Willow tree next to me. Strange how such a majestic beauty can be so divine in such an odd place. Nowhere near a source of constant water to keep it alive; would the closest thing to such a river be the stream about a mile down the old back road. Yet here it was. The grand old Willow standing strong without a care in the world seemingly overlooking the small views of the countryside past its hilltop view. In a sense I was jealous. I felt stupid and childish for feeling this jealousy at all, let alone it being against a tree. I was jealous how it managed to survive. I always fell hard when I tripped or slipped. But this tree, it never fell. It only stood. I want to be like this tree.

The long leaves fickle down and swish against my face and for a moment it startled me. Had the old tree felt my emotions? My jealousy towards it? Not possible. It's a tree. Just my silly imagination. I stopped my fidgeting and rested once again my back to the trunk. I closed my eyes for a moment. And my thoughts ran wild.

I saw the birds flying higher than before, higher than the clouds and the sky. And the fish dove deeper than before. The swam deep down to the darkest crevices of the ocean. And those far away in the small river? Well, they forced their way to the ocean. The bugs all hummed and whistled their tune at once in synchronization. The same rhythm all at the same designated time. And the grass grew all to the same height and let the air sweep them, and sing to their ears as the breeze filtered evenly. Everything; all the living creatures and aspects of this perfect life, grew to perfection.

My eyes opened suddenly.

The thought was too pure for me. My heart and mind wouldn't allow that to continue. So my body shut my thoughts out as usual. I sighed a heavy sigh and continued my way back to the small countryside house. Yet when I took that first step away from the willow, the grass seemed to have grabbed my feet. Capture them almost; signaling them to stay there and not leave that spot. For whatever reason, I listened to those tiny beating hearts of the grass blades and turned slowly back to the tree. I questioned why I did that but didn't mind. It wasn't all that bad taking a break from always working.

Soon an hour passed and my legs were falling asleep. I made my way to continue back home, but my legs collapsed in a perfect way that led me to sit down on the soft grass and the tree trunk. I gave in and realized I strained myself already. How weak I am. But then, I took in how comfortable this felt. The grass made a blanket for me, and the trunk of this old tree became a beating flame. Keeping me warm and relaxed. Soon I saw the day's light recede back to let the moon have some breathing time. At the time I didn't think of what this meant, but in the back of my mind I knew, I was late for supper. And if I didn't return soon, I would be in trouble.

Then I yawned. That was the last thing that happened that afternoon.


	2. Chapter 1

I woke in fear. Sweat pouring down my face. A cold sweat. The kind of sweat you get when your body is in its adrenaline mode; when your body gives you greater energy than ever before. I have no clue what I was afraid of, but I was. I swung my body forward and more drops fell. They wouldn't stop. I got to my knees and stood up to find my legs still in a dull state. The wobbled and would not hold my weight. I groaned in the effort and clung to the tree to balance myself for a moment. Then when my legs passed that tingling feeling I took a step forward away from the hill. Then my arm was held back and my shoulder popped. I felt the pain of the bone moving from its socket. I clenched my face, and gritted my teeth, but caught some of my lip, pressuring it with my teeth which caused blood to pour. Unable to hold it back any longer I let out a shrieking yell that would curdle any blood.

I tried once again to pull my arm with my body, but the pain refused to allow my muscles to work. I turned to see who had caught my arm with such force enough to hold me back so much I wouldn't fall backwards, but remove my arm. There was nobody, but there was a tangled mess of a Willow branch wrapped all around my arm seeming to caress my hand as if to reassure my body and calm me down. It did just the opposite. I screamed once more in terror and then when the branch heard that, it reacted. The branch pulled my arm again which caused more pain. All in a repeating cycle it happened again: I bit my lip too hard, and more blood dripped from my bottom lip. This time the pain was much worse and caused tears to swell and smear my cheeks.

The blood trickled down my chin and I saw it on the tip of my chin and then form into a small drop of blood. Then the drop fell slowly, unrealistically slow. Time slowed itself for this moment, like it was waiting for this to happen, waiting to spring and torture the victim.

The drop of blood hit the ground, and splattered on several blades of grass. The grass came to life, and danced in the blood, swaying right to left in happiness. They shook the blood and covered more blades with the blood until every blade surrounding me was covered in my blood. And then they all grew still, as with the branch. Stiff and cold now. I slowly moved my body position and my useless arm slipped out of the lifeless grip of the tree. I held my arm with my good one, and trapped it to my body wishing it to cease the pain I still feel. I ran out from the circle of blood and kept running.

I made it to the pathway back to my house and saw all the tall grains of wheat whisking in the wind. As I noticed the wheat, the wind quickened into a maelstrom. The wind almost left me unable to move, but being smart, I put my limp arm in front of my face to shield some of the wind and struggled forth. I traveled a mile like that, with the pain of my arm still ringing in my body and shocked every nerve, I soon felt weaker than before and I should lie down. I knew I couldn't otherwise the draft of this wind would shoot me far away. So I kept pushing. And then my foot caught and my body flew to the ground in such force and at an awkward timing, I slammed my limp arm to the ground and my body fell on top of it. This time to the pain so great I couldn't even clench my mouth. It only stood widely open and my eyes watered more than before, ready to gush out the waterfalls.

I laid my head on the ground and I tried to scream out the pain, but all that was uttered from my throat was a small "eek" and then my voice shut down. No more sound, but the gargling of saliva in my mouth. I set my eyelids closed to ease some of the struggling pain shooting throughout my body, alerting everything of the pain in my arm. When I reopened them there was no more wind. It was silent. Afraid to look up I layed there for a bit. My breathing calmed down from a frantic sharp intake of air to a slow deep breathing. At that point I agreed with myself to lift my head. When I did my jaw fell down in shock at where I was.

What was in front of me? The same willow. The same hill.

The same bloodied circle.

At that point I screamed to the heavens, or whoever was sitting up there watching. Then I forced myself up in anger and when I regained my ability to stand, I thrust my foot into the body of the tree. My heel made direct contact, and I heard the tree grunt at my kick. I did it again. And again, and again, and again.

Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again. Again.

I kicked the tree until I no longer felt any feeling in both my arm and my foot. When I felt satisfied, I tried to keep a modest composure, but I couldn't help but smile a wide grin. I had done it. I made have taken a blow or two, but I overcame this accursed tree in front of me. I surprised even myself when I had laughed. It's been quite some time since I last laughed. And when I laughed I decided now it was truly time to return home. I limped my way past the tree and past the bloodied circle, and back along the path I had once tried to take earlier, but now my mind was clear. Nothing was intruding my thoughts, and I felt relaxed once again. My left foot was sore still so each step was a fumbled one, for the limping leg. At last after what seemed a lifetime of walking slowly, I made back home. The small house was inviting and I smiled again, but unlike the previous smile, this one was with happiness and safety. I walked through the small crops that needed constant care and attention near the front of the gate. I pushed open the gate and made my way to the front door somehow.

The second I touched the door my face slammed into it, not as an act of my own, but rather the tangled mess once again returned around my ankle and forced my body to fall forward. As it began dragging me back, I shot my good hand and arm out trying to grab something, but there suddenly was nothing. Then along the trip back to the willow I hit everything, every rock and bumpy indentation in the walkway. Faster than expected I was back at the tree. The branch turned me upside down and forced my body to hold limp in the air. I sighed. When would this end?

At that thought, as if the tree read my thoughts similar as to before, the tree dropped me. I fell down that hilltop. My body folding and rolling in the underside dirt that structured the hill, and I fell endlessly. Yet strangely enough, the pain made me happy. It brought a sense of relief that I hadn't had before. And it was completely different from the release of before as I lay with the tree peacefully. Now in this battle, I thought me to be the sudden victor only to have that taken away instantly. And the thing I didn't expect was there to be a bottom of this drop. I only assumed it would continue through eternity. But I guess I was wrong. And then, my body being a rag doll, I had my face to the dark sky, and my back facing the ground when my body turned over to hit the ground with my head…

Or rather with my neck.


	3. Chapter 2

My eyes slowly opened contrary to the way they did, or I thought they did before…

I looked around and it was day. The sun was merely up, but it was tomorrow nevertheless. I looked at my left arm and saw it functional just as it was before. No kinks, other than the few already obtained beforehand. I looked at my foot too, and as with my arm, nothing wrong with it. I stretched and yawned a loud yawn loud enough to wake every small creature in the forest. I stood up with a stiff back from sleeping on the ground and not in a, not so comfortable but slightly better, bed. I fixed my stiff back by standing up and setting my hands behind my back and stretching backwards and heard my spine crack. I let out a sigh of relief. Alas, I bid my farewell to the tree silently, and leave without a word.

The walk home seemed longer than in the dream. I know this path but for whatever reason, the path seemed quieter. Don't suspect me; it's always been a quiet lonely, rarely traveled road. Yet, right now, there's something in the air that hints something changed. I have not a clue, but this air has turned to fog and bugs and bothers me nonstop.

Then I daze out. Not any important thoughts, but it helps pass the time since the path takes some time and the way there is quite boring and lonely. I think of how this is the only life I know. This countryside alone with my parents. There's other life outside of here, I know. I remember the one day I left the town and went to a gas station far out past the town limits, and bought a magazine there. There were so many odd things in it. One in particular was the fashion. Why does it matter what you require to wear? As long as you're wearing something suitable for what you're doing, you're good to set off, correct? And what is with the constant updates in technology? I admit last summer father and I went down out of this town and to the neighboring city that was completely traverse of the countryside. We went and bought new tools and supplies there that were said to help improve the crop hold around an extra 80 percent. To me that sounded like a great improvement, but father shook his head in disapproval. I was dismayed at his words and decision, but knew not to argue with father, for he knew the best for his crops. Someday I hope to be as good as him.

When we found the appropriate tools, they did make work a bit easier which allowed us more time to finish other side tasks. Mainly repairing our old shed our by the grain basin. But in that magazine, there was an offer for a brand new phone, and then on the next page, the back side of the phone ad, there was an article about the "newer and better improved OS (Operating System)" to model previously released not less than a mere month ago.

It seems like the city-side is always changing. And I want that. Not to live forever, but to experiment the differences. The urban side is great in its own qualities, but after everyone else left, there's been nobody to talk to or communicate with at all. In fact, the path I walk now is an old road through the scenic country. Though after they built the new highway a few months ago, nobody seems to be being any crop yields. Yet somehow, father always manages to sell all the available produce and products to keep us alive and healthy.

When I looked up from my daydreaming, I had accidentally passed my home. I returned around and kept a nice steady gait ready to return home, though knowing punishment was due for not returning home that night. I made it to the door and wiped my lips and then my eyes and entered my home, prepared to take any and all swings aimed at me.


	4. Chapter 3

My footsteps creaked causing my return to be a dead giveaway of my late entrance. I continued walking into the house and closed the door behind me. Usually around this hour I would hear mother cooking or father would be doing some type of work with the animals in the back. But this morning there wasn't anything going on. Curiosity took a hold of my consciousness and pushed me forward. "Mum…? Dad?"

There was no response. I called again, "Mom, Dad, where are you?"

Still the house remained still. My hands shook and tension rose in me. My throat choked and I felt immobile. I ran into every spot I could think of where they would possibly be. I checked the fields and father wasn't there, only the simple cows grazing with a not so common "moo." I returned back shortly to see the hens still napping. That's odd, for hens always awake when the rooster crows. It was at that point I realized the rooster wasn't on the farm.

I made my way back into the house and took the climb up the stairs to the second floor. I went to my parent's room and saw my father sitting on a stool made from cyan wood next to my mother sleeping on the bed. He was silent. "Father?"

"Son, do you know what it feels to lose the precious keepsake of your life?" he asked in his hoarse and deep voice. It completed the set with his body being well built and heavy, but not totally fat. He did have plenty of muscle and strength. His blue overalls matched his red undershirt, like the typical farmer, and his final attribute was his face. His wide face allowed any emotion to be shown easily, and he was never seen sad. It was a feeling he had plowed away deep inside himself. So I never knew my father being sad.

His brown hair mashed with his deep thick eyebrows and his caterpillar-like moustache that rested on his upper lip, never to grown any larger; never reach the final stage. I wanted to pursue my father's question, but he wouldn't turn around. He sat there hunched over my mother and he didn't continue speaking in his usual manner. When I realized this I answered his question, "No."

"Then you may not understand this feeling. But when you do, you'll remember this day. Please, Dominic, call Dr. Reynolds." Without a word, I nodded and walked back down those despair-filled stairs. Every step I took, I winced at the shrill creak. This sound wasn't there before when I ran up it. When I reached the bottom of the stairs I walked calmly to the house phone and picked it up with my hands and looked at it with an inquisitive stare. As if I had never took the time to really look at all the details of this invention. The pale color only emphasized the worn off numbers and letterings. This thing has been used only in emergencies; rarely used. Yet the worn patching were not from use, but of neglect. Years of the phone sitting there collecting dust. Out of habit for cleaning, I rubbed the dust off with my sleeve. Then called the emergency number for Dr. Reynolds.

The odd tone of ringing irked me in a way that had never really been a bother before. But still the incandescent sound seemed to mock me, laughing almost at my lifestyle. And I regretted not staying at that gas station a little longer. "Hello?" The deep voice startled me at first. And I said nothing with his faint echo of "hello" nagging at the other end. I recovered myself and respond.

"Doctor Reynolds?" I asked politely.

"Yes, my boy? What is it you require?"

"I'm the-"

Doctor Reynolds interrupted me, "I know who you are, Dominic. The only calls I seem to have been getting are from your father. What is the problem this time?" Suddenly I was now afraid of both the doctor and my father. This time? How often has something like this happened? And what with my family! I stayed silent a moment longer. The doctor said nothing. Absolute silence. "Is it your mother, like last time?" My eyes grew large and my pupils dilated, I could sense it. How much do I not know? "I'll be over there shortly. Let your father know to use the Red One."

"The Red One?"

"Yes. It's vital to hold your mother over until I arrive. Be patient, Dominic." And just with that final comment, the other end died. I didn't know how to respond to this. Already I felt like I had been farther from my family, though I've lived with them my whole life on this farm. How blind was I to my surroundings?

"Dominic! What did Doctor Reynolds say?" My father had moved from the seat and was standing on the staircase looking at me expectedly and curiously.

"Umm…" I stuttered. "He said to give momma the 'Red One.'" Father nodded and went back upstairs calmly unlike how he seemed. I knew then he was hiding himself in front of me. He didn't wish to be seen weak. Unknowingly to him, I looked up to him more if would show his true self.

I heard father rummaging through the desk drawers in a flurry of crashes and smashed from him throwing everything down and out of the way. He needs that "Red One." I stayed downstairs and had no idea what to do, but I was hungry. So I made something to eat. I went to the fridge and opened it up to take out some fresh ham and a few eggs. I made myself something to eat and began eating it when I finished. I left the utensils there to clean afterwards. I sat down at the table and began eating some slices of ham and taking small bites of egg. I looked at the clock and saw the minute hand was broken once again. I shivered a bit. It was eerie at the thought of how time seemed to now be stuck at this exact moment.

As if on cue, Doctor Reynolds rushes in the door, and turns looking in a wild frenzy around everything in our house. He didn't even acknowledge me, but ran to the living room and began moving everything around. I had no clue what he was looking for so I watched him for a bit. He seemed a bit funny, the way his gray hair curled around his ears and down the back of his neck to once again form a beard at the tip of his chin, but nowhere else. There were no markings on his chin to indicate the care of shaving it to keep it that way; his hair naturally stayed that way. His deep blue eyes seemed to shock you with every second you continued to look into them. His rugged hands wore dirt under his fingernails, and his wrinkled skin held every speck of dust he could fine with his hands. He wore his white overcoat with his name printed in cursive on the left side, above his small shirt pocket, and underneath the pocket was a name, presumably his company's name: R.L. Medics. I thought it seemed like a strange name for a company, but nothing seemed wrong with it, for it was his company. Once Doctor Reynolds finished his "snooping" of my house he looked at me and said, "Upstairs correct?" I nodded in response.

It was right after this moment that everything changed.

This was my last moment I clung to my reality.


End file.
